


Of Ridiculousness and Sweetness

by lovelylethargy



Category: Union J (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylethargy/pseuds/lovelylethargy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh is ridiculous. And injured. And George is medically inclined, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Ridiculousness and Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> http://unionj-fanworks.livejournal.com/10697.html
> 
> Go contribute to the Gosh birthday ficathon, guys! It's ace. And I am very late contributing, so sorry about that. But thanks to V for making the ficathon because it makes me really really really happy and she's awesome.
> 
> Inspired by Union J's antics while on set of The X Factor.

“You’re quite the talent, George Shelley,” Josh says, impressed, from his perch on the counter, hand reaching up to touch the gash along the top of his head before it’s swatted away.

“Stop moving,” George says sternly, eyeing Josh gravely. He’s seldom this serious – not that he can’t be, it’s just that it’s not really his natural state – and that may be the only reason Josh doesn’t roll his eyes in response. He does, however, stick his tongue out in retaliation, just to hear George’s stifled giggle.

“You’re ridiculous,” he sighs fondly once he’s satisfied that his warning has been taken seriously, resting his fingers tentatively against Josh’s forehead, just beneath his hairline. The base of his quiff is stained darker than his the rest of his hair, where blood has gathered. 

“Thank you,” he adds quietly, combing his fingers carefully through the structured form of Josh’s hair, gently pulling it away from the bloody area so that he can see more clearly. They’re in one of the many spare dressing rooms at Wembley, and the lighting is a bit of a disgrace, which might explain why they found it unoccupied. 

“I had no idea you were so medically inclined,” Josh teases, relaxing under the George’s hands. He winces slightly at the sudden pressure against the cut, earning him an apologetic grimace.

“I’m not,” George snorts, extricating his fingers from the now-wilting array of Josh’s hair. He wipes his product-covered hands on the sides of Josh’s trousers, leaving a streak of grime. Perhaps the action wasn’t strictly necessary, but he’ll take what he can get. And if Josh smirks a little at the rub of pale fingers on his legs, well, that’s just fine. When he inhales, though, catching the smell of George – strong coffee, and sugary sweetness, and something akin to strawberries but not quite – he feels less like smirking and more like cursing. He can pretend that this situation is uncommon, him being overwhelmed by George’s mere presence, blame it on the injury, but there’s no way he can maintain such a ridiculous lie, particularly to himself. 

“You have younger siblings, too,” George points out, moving down the wall. He rummages through the cupboard beneath the sink for the towel he knows must be hidden somewhere and pointedly does not think about his current position: bent over, in a very limited space, with Josh, who’s blood trickling down his massive, endearing forehead. 

“Yeah,” Josh replies, breath whooshing out in a gust as he pointedly does not look at George’s delightful backside. “They’re always getting cut up, innit?” he adds, aiming for more thoughtful and less affected. Damn George and his gorgeous self, he thinks mutinously as said menace emerges from the cupboard, brandishing a towel about, triumphant, grinning wide, cheeks dimpled and threatening to make Josh swoon. Maybe he’s losing more blood than they originally thought. He reaches up to run a steadying hand through his hair before he remembers that that’s not the best idea at the moment. He sticks both of his hands beneath his legs in an attempt to deter further bad ideas which are not just limited to his hair at the moment.

“Basically,” George says, turning back from the sink, having wet the towel and wrung it out. “I remember this one time Louisa ran into the fence in our backyard, straight into it like a cartoon,” he says thoughtfully, corners of his mouth turned up sweetly at the memory. “Once she got over the shock of it, all she cared about was whether or not it would scar. She wanted to look cool,” he says warmly, nostrils flared with a tiny snort. Josh never thought that we would consider snorting to be cute, not on anyone, but George is definitely the most adorable person he’s ever met. Besides, it’s hard not to be drawn in when he talks about his family like that. It’s so incredibly sweet. He sticks to smiling in response because he’s not really sure what he can say to that right now without making himself seem like an idiot and also because yeah, he can imagine a curly-haired little girl with cute dimples running about wanting to be cool while she mostly looks cute. Sounds a lot like someone he knows.

George moves back into the space between Josh’s thighs, leaning against the counter, and honestly, Josh should be accustomed to the close proximity between them by now, but it still makes him unsteady on a good day, and this is not fair at all because he’s injured for fuck’s sake. He forces himself to sit still, not trusting himself all that much around George anymore. One hand settles on the top of Josh’s head, pushing stray strands of hair aside, the other moving to press against the opening, pausing as a warning. George presses the wet towel against the cut as tenderly as he can manage, frowning sympathetically when Josh hisses at the sting. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, trying to be quick and thorough, carefully dabbing at the area. It looks a lot worse than it actually is, he realizes when he manages to sop up the majority of the sticky red mess of hair gel and blood coating Josh’s hair. It doesn’t look good, exactly – there’s a massive area of Josh’s head that’s red and almost swollen looking and it definitely isn’t going to look pretty in the morning – but for the most part it’s now clean and it won’t be doing any permanent damage and that’s really the most important thing to concern yourself with when a fellow bandmate manages to crack his head open. 

The most important thing to concern yourself with is definitely not the best way in which to make said bandmate feel better because they’re frowning and while you do like their ridiculously pouty lips, you’d rather they were smiling all cute at you. Yeah, definitely not. George clears his throat carefully, setting the stained towel aside, continuing his serious inspection of the top of his head. Not that he doesn’t have a lovely head, but he’d much rather be inspecting various other assets in Josh’s possession.

Somehow, his hand ends up rested on Josh’s thigh, and he doesn’t even really notice until he does and then he’s freaking the fuck out because, well, he may not be injured, but apparently his body is struggling to take in oxygen. It’s not entirely uncommon in Josh’s presence, it’s just that usually he has a better grasp on everything. Now, though, he’s hyper-aware, suddenly taking in his surroundings, which is a very bad move, apparently. 

He’s standing right between Josh’s thighs, leaned up against the counter, one hand rested on his thigh and the other in his hair and – that’s just not cool, you know, because that is a perfectly lovely place to be, he’s just not enjoying it nearly as much as he probably could be. He busies himself with carefully smoothing over Josh’s hair, which has little hope of returning to its perfectly quiffed glory, soft and fluffy beneath his fingers now that it’s been wiped clean of dried hair gel and blood. 

“There,” he huffs, noting the silence that seems to have settled in the past few minutes, looking just past Josh’s head to the wall. Situated like this, he’s nearly a full head taller, whereas they’re normally almost even. He can easily ignore Josh’s pretty blue eyes and keep his own pinned on the blank, uninteresting white wall that lacks the allure of the boy in front of him.

“Is that all?” Josh asks, voice gone all quiet and soft, and George has to spare him a glance for that because he’s seldom quiet, let alone soft. He carefully removes his fingers from Josh’s hair, carefully replacing his hand at his side, since apparently he needs to keep better track of his appendages.

“Mhmm,” George hums in response, warring between the obligation to step back and the desire to never ever move from where he is in this moment ever. He’s still painfully aware of his hand settled across the top of Josh’s leg, 

“Isn’t there something about having to kiss it better?” he asks thoughtfully, almost innocently, as though it’s a perfectly normal question that anyone might ask. George is too distracted to notice the look that Josh is giving him, all considering and thoughtful and gauging. Given anyone else’s query, George almost definitely would have giggled. Now, though, he’s in no mood to giggle. He’s equal parts endeared and frustrated and unsure of himself and he hates this feeling, so he sighs lowly instead, cursing thick eyebrows and sharp cheekbones and massive foreheads with matching quiffs.

“Fine,” George mutters, feigning distaste, leaning in necessarily in order to press his lips gently to the top of Josh’s head. Dampened and soft, and even with the lingering smell of rust, his hair smells like Josh, and George would like nothing more than to bury his nose in it. He settles for nuzzling his head for an unsatisfying moment before pulling back.

“Better?” he asks, holding back a heavy sigh. They do this, they do – they toe the line, and this isn’t even the worst of it, really, but it’s a bit too much right now. He’s wanted Josh for a while now, once they got past their initial discomfort. He’s good at dealing, too. But despite the setting, it seems just the wrong side of intimate and he’s not in any place to deal with the feelings bubbling up his throat. It sounds silly, now – Josh is fine, after all – but he was genuinely concerned. There was an impressive amount of blood and he did seem genuinely light-headed for a bit.

“Eh, it’s alright,” Josh says, shrugging. George looks at him quizzically, finally meeting his eyes, just as his hand comes up to mess with his hair, again. He snatches Josh’s wrist before he can run his fingers though his hair, his own fingers not quite wrapping the entire way around, still eyeing him warily. Josh raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything, just stares back. George is getting tired of being in such close proximity – it’s stressful – and considers pulling away as Josh adds, “Could be better.” 

“Yeah? How’s that?” he demands, humoring the jibe even if it stings a little. Josh shrugs again, acting nonchalant, still watching him, considering. George’s not entirely sure he’s going to get an answer, except then there’s less space between them than there was before. Suddenly they’re breathing the same air, and that is both amazing and bad because he thinks his brain might be short-circuited and he’s having a bit of trouble breathing and he can’t think anything besides wantwantwant. It’s like his entire body is confused warring against the switch and pushing for more and he can’t process much, but he does catch Josh’s quirked eyebrow when he pauses.

He’s tired of pauses and considering looks. So, maybe it’s a little too aggressive when he smashes their mouths together, teeth knocking hard behind colliding lips. And maybe they both have to pull back a bit because, yeah, that was painful. But then Josh is grinning wide and laughing, burying his face in George’s shirt, hands reaching out to wrap around his tiny waist.

“Oi! Are you trying to injure me?” he asks, muffled in the juncture between his shoulder and his neck.

“Maybe I like taking care of you,” he responds, giggling uncontrollably. That was admittedly not his smoothest move. He allows himself to be drawn into Josh’s ridiculously massive arms, nuzzling his hair properly.

“My hero,” Josh whispers, soft, against his collarbone, and if that doesn’t just make his stomach flutter. 

“You’re ridiculous,” George sighs, still fond and grinning and very much enjoying the feel of Josh around him.


End file.
